


Ma ghilana mir revas

by halamshiral



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: AU, Ancient Elvhenan, Angst, Evanuris, Eventual Smut, F/M, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-02 18:55:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5259914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halamshiral/pseuds/halamshiral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Next to Andruil stood a young woman, presumably a trusty maid of hers, whose pristine appearance stirred a feeling of helplessness in him. He found the contemplation of he beauty both pleasurable and distressing, for he could not bear to see such a graceful being who quietly seemed to enjoy th slavery forced on her."</p><p>Yrma Lavellan is a slave that belongs to Andruil. Naturally, Fen'Harel decides to free her. But little does he know such a simple act of mercy will threaten to undo everything he has fought for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

"I hope you understand my concern, darling. I cannot let my lands be endangered."

  
Her exasperating voice as well as her disingenuous courtesy grew more unbearable with each passing minute as Fen'Harel heard her nonsense from across the table. Even though he was accustomed to such formal occasions in which half truths and insincere smiles were as natural as breathing, the rebel god detested attending to diplomatic appointments, specially if these took place at Andruil's palace.

  
The castle was as cold and majestic as its owner. Both gods were sitting in the grand living room, surrounded by several slaves whose only purpose was to please Andruil's needs. A long wooden table brimming with delicacies lay between them. Fen'Harel was not interested in such regales, much less in Andruil's poisoned compliments. Peace, however, had a price, one that he paid by trying to appease the evanuris' demands whenever they craved some childish caprice while he silently paved the way for rebellion.

  
Despite the unpleasant nature of the soiree, there was a presence in the room that had caught Fen'Harel's eye. Next to Andruil stood a young woman, presumably a trusty maid of hers, whose pristine appearance stirred feeling of helplessness in him. He found the contemplation of her beauty both pleasurable and distressing, for he could not bear to see such a graceful being who quietly seemed to enjoy the slavery forced on her. His fixation with the slave was soon noticed by the goddess, who commanded her to leave the room using the excuse of requiring a hot bath prepared in her quarters for her to relax after the day's events. The maid obeyed at once and left the room at a quick pace. Fen'Harel spoke then, his grey eyes focusing on Andruil, gleaming with cunning and insolence.

  
"You wish my army to withdraw from the enclave, am I correct?"

  
"Indeed."

  
"An ambitious request. But how would I benefit from such a remarkable loss?"

  
Andruil's smile trembled slightly at his question as indignation flashed across her features. She clearly did not mean to renounce a single privilege in order to claim what she believed was an undeniable right.

  
"Would my eternal gratitude sate the Dread Wolf's desires?" Her voice lowered into a whisper.

  
"And what advantages would your gratitude grant me I wonder?" He asked, aware of her intentions, but determined to disregard her flirtatious tone.

  
Andruil rose then from her seat gracefully. The skirt of her bejeweled dress undulated with every step she took, every sway of her hips, as she walked towards her guest with a lewd smile on her face. Fen'Harel remained still. It was well-known among the nobility that Andruil burned with desire to lay with the Dread Wolf, a whim that he had refused to satisfy on countless occasions.

  
The goddess halted her steps as she reached out a hand to stroke his jaw. Then she leaned to whisper lustful words into his pointed ear, words that she meant to keep secret in the presence of her slaves.

  
"Ah, the strategy of seduction" Fen'Harel noted in an indolent tone which he was not trying to hide. "A peculiar proposal, but not tempting in the slightest. Mythal gave me the territory, therefore, unless she changes her mind, the land will remain as it is. My troops will not withdraw."

  
The goddess let out a strident laugh as she turned away, walking back to her seat.

  
"Perhaps I could be tempted to offer certain information to the rest of the evanuris. I know you are the one who's been stealing slaves. Would you consider more appropriate an extortion strategy?"

  
Fen'Harel clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowed in challenge.

  
"Do as you will. Your threats do not intimidate me."

  
"Then I believe this reunion is over and I suggest you leave immediately."

 

  
  
Yrma closed her eyes as a sigh left her lips. She leaned over the bathtub that she had prepared and scented so carefully for her dear mistress. The coarse fibers of the carpet brushed her legs as she knelt down next to the tub, a heartwarming sensation which reminded her that she was home. The relaxing scent of roses was starting to have a sedative effect on her as she lightly touched the hot water with her fingertips, thinking of the arrival of Andruil with anticipation. Her yearning was, however, replaced by disappointment as soon as the goddess burst into her quarters radiating a palpable agitation that disturbed the atmosphere Yrma had created. Andruil seemed surprised when she noticed her maid's presence, but her face softened when she remembered the task that she had entrusted to her with the intention of keeping her away from the Dread Wolf's wicked gazes. Yrma stood up at once when she saw her enter the room as a sign of respect.

  
"Your bath is ready, my lady."

  
Andruil nodded and gave her a slight smile.

  
"Leave me." She ordered. "I need some time alone."

  
Yrma obeyed, a glimpse of disillusionment in her eyes. She longed to assist her mistress during her bath, as she always did. However, as she walked through the long corridor which led to the servants' quarters, the memory of a fleeting gesture, a display of affection, stirred a blissful feeling in the young slave.

  
_She smiled to me._

  
Lost in thought as she was, she startled the moment she bumped into a strange man she didn't recall having ever seen in the palace. The man approached her, visibly unsettled. His clothes were unlike those of the slaves and he was not wearing vallaslin, which meant he was a free elf.

  
"Quickly, come with me. I can get you out of here." The stranger assured.

  
Yrma furrowed her brow and stepped back, shooting him a suspicious glare.

  
"What do you want from me?"

  
"I'm here to set you free, of course." He answered, arching his eyebrows, surprised by her reluctance to leave the palace. "I've been ordered to take you with me. I will explain everything once we are safe."

  
"I'm not going anywhere with you!"

  
The calm which reigned in the palace was soon altered by Yrma's cries for help as she tried to kick and punch her unexpected kidnapper in a futile struggle. He picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder with ease, carrying her out of the place in which she longed to remain forever.


	2. Skyhold

_“What were you even thinking!”_  
_“I’m sorry, sir. I had no choice.”_  
  
Distant elven words came to her ears, incomprehensible to her, a humble slave. Both voices spoke shakily from the other side of a sturdy wooden door that she could barely discern in the dark. One of the voices was powerful and stern, while the other one sounded insecure and edgy. Darkness reigned around her, thick and overwhelming, but partly dissipated by the weak thread of light under the door. The narrow room was full of barrels that gave off a bitter and nauseating smell of wine. She was, undoubtedly, trapped in the cellar of some old castle.

As she regained full consciousness, Yrma tried to scream, but her shrieks were muffled by the pressure of a gag. She struggled to free herself from the ropes that bound her wrists and ankles so tightly she could feel her skin burning. Her efforts, however, were in vain.

When the door suddenly opened, she gasped, afraid and confused, momentarily blinded by the orange light that invaded the cellar. She could see the two men who had been speaking behind the door a moment ago standing on the threshold. One of them was her kidnapper, whose sweaty face and restless eyes revealed nervousness; the other man was taller and looked intimidating. He was wearing a shiny bronze armor with a fur draped over his right shoulder. Yrma recognized him as the god with whom Andruil had had a meeting just a few hours ago.

“Please, excuse this man’s poor manners.” Fen’Harel spoke in an apologetic tone. “It was not my intention to cause you any harm.”

The young woman’s brown eyes gleamed with fury and unshed tears, but she remained still under the gaze of the two elves.

“Let her speak.” The god commanded sternly.

His agent rushed awkwardly into the cellar and untied the rag that kept the prisoner mute at once.

“Let me go, sons of bitches!” She shouted as soon as her mouth was free.

The agent directed an uneasy glance towards Fen’Harel, who motioned with a slight nod of his head for him to untie the ropes.

“But sir, she will attack us.” He retorted with reluctance.

“You caused this. May I remind you that she is our guest and not our prisoner?” Fen’Harel snapped back.

The agent let out a sigh and nodded, defeated. First, he untied the ropes that bound the slave’s ankles together and then, he loosened the ones around her wrists under the scrutiny of his superior. Unsurprisingly, Yrma rushed at him violently, slamming him against the floor and quickly snatching his bow and his quiver. Fen’Harel observed the scene with unusual calm. He had anticipated the young woman’s reaction. The agent, however, stood up and leaned against a wall, trembling with fear, as Yrma set an arrow up on the bow with extraordinary skill, tensing the string threateningly.

“Any sudden moves and you're a dead.” She warned, aiming the weapon alternately at both men with shaky hands.

“Do you even know how to use a weapon?” The agent dared to ask.

The moment his insolent words left his mouth Yrma released the arrow. As a sharp hiss cut through the air, the metal tip pierced a wooden beam that stood behind the careless man, missing his head by a few inches.

“I will not miss the shot the next time you open your filthy mouth.” She threatened.

Both men were visibly unsettled by her unexpected dexterity.  Her skill with the bow was far beyond what anyone would expect from an enslaved woman.

“Set aside the weapon, da’len.” Fen’Harel spoke, his tone as harsh as it was serene. “You are free to go, if you wish.” The god’s posture remained erect, standing with his hands behind his back in a relaxed but authoritative attitude. Yrma, however, was not easily intimidated.

“Take me back to Andruil’s palace.” She commanded.

Fen’Harel eyed the young elf with curiosity, unable to understand her rejection towards the freedom that he offered. His grey eyes traced the dark lines of Andruil’s vallaslin, marks that tainted her beautiful face, now contorted with rage. He felt the same melancholy that had invaded him as he had drunk in the sight of her, back at the palace.

“It is already dark outside and the roads are not safe.” Fen’Harel pointed out. “You should stay here for the night. One of my best agents will take you back to Andruil’s dwelling tomorrow.”

“What?”  The agent spoke, outraged. “After all I have been through to bring her here, you let her go just like that?"

Fen’Harel turned to face him, and glared at him with disdain.

“Had you done well your job, none of this would have happened. This is a place for those who seek freedom. I will not have her here against her will. Now, leave.” He commanded.

The agent shook his head but obeyed at once, leaving the cellar quickly. Yrma slackened the bow then.

“Your agent will take me home tomorrow first thing in the morning.” She stressed, making sure Fen’Harel did not forget she could not wait to leave.

The rebel god nodded his head and motioned her to accompany him. Yrma obeyed and, bow in hand, she followed him through castle dungeons full of dark corridors and narrow stairs. When they finally arrived at the main floor, Yrma found herself surprised at the warm atmosphere of the place. The immense hall, illuminated by hundred of candles, gave off a cozy, humble vibe. Dozens of cheerful young elves seemed to be enjoying a banquet, sitting around a long wooden table. Yrma found this place completely different from the palace that she had always considered her home. Far from white opulent walls and cold crystal decorations, Fen’Harel’s dwelling radiated simplicity and protection.

“Welcome to Tarasyl'an Tel'as. Take a sit and join the party.” Fen’Harel suggested before walking away and leaving her in front of the huge table. Yrma sat down on one of the vacant chairs looking around cautiously, feeling observed by the rest of the elves, who were laughing and talking among each other. None of them was wearing vallaslin.

“You are new here.” A youth on the verge of adolescence pointed out as he offered her a piece of bread. “I hope you find yourself comfortable here.”  
Yrma nodded as she accepted the lad’s bread. She felt then the comforting warmth of a blanket draping her shoulders and the caress of a feminine hand on her own arm. Yrma turned her head, slightly startled, and found the friendly face of a woman who looked at her with maternal tenderness, despite her being as young as Yrma was. She relaxed under the softness of the blanked and smiled gratefully.

“Solas has just informed me of your presence.” The unknown woman spoke. “I’m sorry that you want to leave. We could help you.”

“Who is Solas?” Yrma asked confused.

“The owner of this place. He is also known as Fen’Harel, although I think such name doesn’t do him justice.” The woman clarified, a smile still adorning her freckled face.

“The Commander will take care of you.” The young lad, who was observing both women from the other side of the table, spoke.

“Therel, please, I have already told you many times that I want you to call me by my name.” She laughed.

“So you are a commander" Yrma spoke with curiosity, eager to know more about the gentile stranger.

“Indeed, I command a small combat team. I am the Commander of the Arcane Warriors and we pledge our services to Solas. We are a part of his army. But you don’t have to call me by my rank, my name is Sylvane.”

The evening passed peacefully, and Yrma felt so at ease among the humble strangers that for a few hours she completely forgot about her misery. Sylvane turned out to be an excellent story-teller and she delighted all those present with interesting anecdotes; the children regaled Yrma with compliments and all kinds of curious questions, as they were pleased with her presence. At no time during the banquet did Fen'Harel show up, which made Yrma feel relieved. Even though he seemed to care for the common people, she could not trust him. She was convinced he had hidden motivations which led him to act that way; perhaps a political strategy.

When drowsiness began to take over the elves, everyone retired to their respective quarters. Yrma was led to a comfortable room with a soft bed covered with pillows and furs that highly differed from her usual straw pallet. In spite of the warm blankets and the fine mattress, the young woman felt uncomfortable, because not only did she miss her home, but she also had the feeling that something bad was going to happen to her. Such thoughts tormented her the whole night, preventing her from falling asleep.

 

The next day, early in the morning, she returned home mounted on a horse led by one of Fen'Harel's agents, as promised. Her return, however, did not get the warm welcome she had expected. As soon as she entered Andruil's quarters, the goddess' insane eyes pierced the young slave like poisoned daggers. She knew then; something was wrong.

"You must be very proud of yourself, darling."

Andruil's harsh words, her contorted face in a grimace of madness, unsettled Yrma immeasurably. Although she had always known her mistress was mentally unstable, she had never perceived her as threat. She had learned to love her above all things; above any mental disorders that could cloud her judgment. The goddess, sitting in her huge velvety armchair, wearing a silky nightdress, looked more beautiful than ever. Yrma, however, feared for her life under her fierce scrutiny.

"It wasn't my fault." The slave defended herself, trying to hide the disquiet she felt. "I was kidnapped against my will."

"You should have fought back! For me!" Andruil spat.

"I did, my lady. That's why I'm here." Yrma answered with feigned calm. "I demanded that they brought me back, so they did. Everything is fine."

"No, no, no! Tell me what he has done to you!" Her agitated voice sounded in the young woman's ears in such an unpleasant way that she had to make a great effort not to wince. "He bedded you, didn't he?"

Yrma's eyes widened with astonishment as she listened to Andruil's delusional accusations. "No, he did not."

"You are lying! That bastard possessed and marked you and then brought you here just to humiliate me!"

"Please, my lady. That's not what happened. He never laid a finger on me!" Her calm behaviour vanished as Andruil's paranoid assertions poured from her mouth.

"Oh, so you defend him after all. You love him, don't you?"

"I don't even know him! Please, see reason, I'm begging you.”

Andruil covered her face with both hands and remained quiet for a few seconds, seconds that seemed eternal to the frightened slave.

"I don't believe you." She finally spoke, this time with apparent composure. "Not only have you betrayed my trust by letting the Dread Wolf stain you, but you are also blatantly lying to me. You don't belong here any longer. Leave before I regret having shown mercy."

Andruil's words hit her like a slap across her face; tears threatened to leave her brown eyes. She knew begging would be in vain; she knew her mistress too well. Her decisions were as categorical as they were unbreakable. After drinking in the sight of her briefly, convinced that it would be the last time she would see the goddess, Yrma turned around and left the room with a great feeling of sorrow, almost as intense as the love she felt for her mistress.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I appreciate your feedback :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> The protagonist of this story is Malkavian's lovely Inquisitor.


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